‘Oh, if Vernon is satisfied with the state of affairs, I can have nothing further to say,’ replied Mrs. Ferrers with dignity; ‘but if Daphne were my daughter—and Heaven forbid I should ever have such a responsibility as an overgrown girl of that temperament!—I would allow no boat-house breakfastings, no meanderings on the Avon. However, it is no business of mine,’ concluded Mrs. Ferrers with an injured air, having said all she had to say. ‘How is your water-lily counterpane getting on?’ ‘Nearly finished,’ answered Madoline, delighted to change the conversation. ‘It will be ready for papa’s birthday.’ ‘How is my brother, by-the-by?’ ‘He has been complaining of rheumatic pains. I’m afraid we shall have to spend next winter abroad.’ ‘What nonsense, Lina! It is mere hypochondria on Vernon’s part. He was always full of fancies. He is as well as I am.’ ‘He does not think so himself, aunt; and he ought to know best.’ ‘I am not sure of that. A hypochondriac may fancy he has hydrophobia, but he is not obliged to be right. You foster Vernon’s imaginary complaints by pretending to believe in them.’ Lina did not argue the point, perceiving very plainly that her aunt was out of temper. Nor did she press that lady to stay to luncheon, nor offer any polite impediment to her departure. But the interference of starched propriety had the usual effect. Lightly as Madoline had seemed to hold her aunt’s advice, she was too thorough a woman not to act upon it. She went up to Daphne’s room directly Mrs. Ferrers left the house. She stole softly in, so as not to disturb the girl’s slumber, and seated herself by the open window calmly to await her waking. Daphne’s room was one of the prettiest in the house. It had a wide window, overlooking the pastoral valley and winding Avon. It was neatly furnished with birchwood, and turquoise cretonne, and white and gold crockery, but it was sorely out of order. Daphne’s gowns of yesterday and the day before were flung on the sofa. Daphne’s hats of all the week round were strewed on tables and chairs. Her sunshade lay across the dressing-table among the brushes, and scent bottles, and flower-glasses, and pincushions, and trumpery. She had no maid of her own, and her sister’s maid, in whose articles of service it was to attend upon her, had renounced that duty as a task impossible of performance. No well-drilled maid could have anything to do—except when positively obliged—with such an untidy and unpunctual young lady. A young lady who would appoint to have her hair dressed and her gown laced at seven, and come running into the house breathless and panting at twenty minutes to eight; a young lady who made hay of her cuffs and collars whenever she was in a hurry, and whose drawer of ribbons was always being upheaved as if by an earthquake. Daphne, being remonstrated with and complained of, protested that she would infinitely rather wait upon herself than be worried.